A deep voice echoed through the room. “A good story for Christmas.”

Chapter Eight

Hugh leaned his shoulder against the lintel outside the pool of light cast by the candle. He’d stood at the nursery door for several minutes, listening. Philomena seemed not to have noticed him. She looked so small and vulnerable, and was very obviously female, despite her shorn hair. How could he ever have mistaken her for a boy?

At the sound of his voice, she leapt up to face him, startled, eyes wide, one hand at her breast.

Hugh stepped forward into the flicker of the candlelight and the young woman took a corresponding pace backwards. He stopped short, irritated. Why was she so nervous? He was no ogre. “You need not fear me. I came to bid John goodnight. Mrs. Rivers suggested he might like this stocking to hang by the fire.”

She made no reply.

“I see the boy is asleep already,” Hugh went on. Why did he feel he must explain himself to this female? It was unwise. He had no need to justify himself. He was, after all, Master of the Hall. Still, conscience pricked. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps John may forget how harsh his father has been today.” He scowled. What had prompted him to say such a thing?

The young woman smiled, tantalising dimples appearing and, just as suddenly, vanishing.

“You agree then, that my behaviour was unkind?” Hugh taunted.

The woman closed a hand on the chair back, as though for safety. “I am sorry I let your son fall asleep. I should have kept him awake for the visit.”

Her face glowed in the light from the candle and a pair of blue eyes sparkled. Her tall, slim frame, dark lashes and wide mouth were as unlike Beatrice’s petite, fair beauty as Hugh could imagine. Such an open face surprised him, like a gust of fresh air through a stuffy room. His breath caught.

“How could you know I would visit? Have you not been told that I avoid the boy?” Some demon inside tempted him to mock. Would she fight back, showing the spirit of the railway cutting?

“I am sorry John has no playfellows.” Although the words were demure, her lips snapped shut in a straight line. A twinge of guilt struck Hugh. She thought John lonely. It was true; the child was isolated at the Hall, with no other boys nearby. “We are just coming out of mourning,” he said, provoked into an excuse.

The young woman’s hand dropped from the chair and her brow furrowed. She looked concerned. “I know that this is a sad time, my lord, and especially so for your son. I am sorry my arrival has caused further trouble.”

Uncomfortable, Hugh swallowed hard. “Nonsense. I would not have missed today’s events for the world. Breeches, my dear, become you more than you can imagine.” The mockery was unfair. He should have held his tongue, for the young woman’s cheeks flamed bright red. He must make those blue eyes sparkle once more. “Come with me.”